


Fools Rush In

by kingdomkeeperofthelibrary



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And he's a bit too excited about it, Background Harry/Ginny, Canon Compliant, Cried writing this, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Future talk, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Romione Secret Santa, Ron is very much in love with Hermione, after the war, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24628426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingdomkeeperofthelibrary/pseuds/kingdomkeeperofthelibrary
Summary: "He wanted to say that they were impulsive: an outburst caused by the hour of the night and the level of his joy and him not being in his right mind; but they weren't. He knew exactly what he was saying, and he meant it, crazy as it seemed.'Will you marry me?'"Three nights after the Battle of Hogwarts, Ron and Hermione find themselves together when neither of them can sleep. They get to talking, and cuddling, but then, overwhelmed with the joy of finally being together, Ron finds he can't help but ask her question...crazy as it seems.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Fools Rush In

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! I spent quarantine reading Harry Potter for the first time since age 10 and one of my favorite things about it was rediscovering Ron and Hermione's love story. I've been thinking a lot about them, and writing fics, and then while talking to a friend she mentioned a headcanon that Ron is so happy about being with Hermione that he proposes right after the battle. I loved the idea, so I ran with it, and somehow ended up with one of my favorite things I've ever written. 
> 
> So friend, this is for you! Thanks for being my Potter buddy during quarantine and indulging me in all of our headcanon conversations. Enjoy!

"Wise men say: only fools rush in,  
but I can't help falling in love with you"

- _Can't Help Falling in Love_ ,  
Elvis Presley

***

Three days had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, and it was late at night as Ron stared at the ceiling in his bedroom. He hadn't been getting much sleep at all lately; there was too much that was simply strange: strange to know that he was in his own bed again, safe in a room in his own house; strange to think of how long it had been since he'd last been there; strange to think that he might not have ever returned; strange to think the number of people that would never return to their own beds; strange to think that Fred's bed next door would forever be without an owner.

A lump formed in his throat at the last thought: there was too much about this new life to get used to; it didn't even feel real yet. Fred was gone. His big brother, who when they were children spent every ounce of free time devising how best to prank him, but who also was the first to know how to make him smile again when he was upset…was dead. How could Fred be dead? Fred was like the essence of life itself. Life wasn't supposed to die.

Tears burned at his eyes, though he tried to will them away: everything was so much lighter than it had been…and yet it was all so heavy too. Voldemort was dead. Decades of threat were absent from the Wizarding World at last. Months of being on the run and barely eating or showering, and wondering if everyone he loved was already gone were over. He was supposed to be able to breathe now. For the first time in years…he could be a normal teenager.

And yet he didn't feel any of it. He didn't feel normal. He didn't feel like he could breathe. How could he breathe when he'd seen so much death in the months and days just passed? How could he breathe in a world where his mother was crying most of the time, and where his father barely spoke? How could he breathe when every time he closed his eyes he saw Fred being blasted back into a pile of rubble, or Harry lying limp in Hagrid's arms, or heard Hermione's screams as he was locked in a cellar…helpless to stop it.

Too much about this world was new, and he didn’t know how to settle into accepting it as normal.

It didn't help, of course, that he was alone. Harry had taken Bill's room, as he and Fleur had gone back to Shell Cottage the evening before, and so the bed across from him that spent so many summers occupied by his best friend was empty again. It would've helped to have that constant, to feel like he could just be in their dorm at Hogwarts, sleepless because he was worried about the latest Potions exam…not because he was worried that his friends and family might not be there when he woke up. But Harry was–surely–having a harder time than any of them, and he'd spent a lot of time alone since the Battle.

The tears finally escaped Ron's eyes and ran down his cheeks, and, frustrated as he was, he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away. He was angry: angry at everyone who had taken someone from him; angry at them for leaving; angry at himself for feeling like this. He wanted to just be able to move on: to trade Quidditch cards with Harry on the bedroom floor, and go to Hogsmeade for Butterbeer, and take Hermione on a date.

 _Hermione_.

Her name sparked something new in his brain, because there was another thing to adjust to. Of all the new things that he had to fit into his normal, she was the one that he didn’t mind. After so many years of knowing, so many failed attempts of coming close… _finally_ , they'd found their way, and she was a comfort that he didn't know how he'd lived without before.

Of course, he'd always had her, but this was different. Now, whenever he was feeling lost, whenever he was feeling heavy, whenever he couldn't breathe, he could look at her and know that she was _his_ and he was _hers_ and that he could kiss her if he wanted to without any risk…and that made all the difference. They'd held hands before, held each other when they needed an anchor, but now when she saw his chest tighten, and quietly slipped her hand into his, it was _her_ hand to hold. When she leaned her head on his shoulder and her curls tickled his cheeks…they were _his_ curls to run his fingers through. He was hers, and she was his, and he wished he'd only known earlier that it could be that simple.

A light knock sounded at the door, drawing him away from his thoughts, and he startled. He began fumbling for his wand, but before he could even fully sit up, the door slowly opened, and there she was, almost like he'd cast a summoning charm.

 _Hermione_ , wearing one of the jumpers his Mum had knit him like a dress, and socks rolled up at her ankles, and her curls– _his_ curls–falling at her shoulders.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hi," he said, and he'd never been happier to say it.

"Can I come in?" she asked, pushing her hair behind her ear.

Ron practically leapt out of the bed then, moving to sit on the side so that she had room to sit next to him. Hermione smirked, then shuffled over quietly to join him.

Once she sat down, she folded her hands in her lap and stared at them and they were both silent. Ron didn't look at her either. It was only when she had actually joined him on the bed that he realized they'd never been alone in his room together…much less on his bed. He had no idea why she was here, or what he was supposed to do in this situation. He hoped she wouldn’t reach out and touch his hand just yet, because then she'd feel the sweat that was currently pooling there.

"Harry was in our room with Ginny," Hermione suddenly said, as if trying to explain herself. "I thought I ought to give them their privacy."

Before Ron could even make a move to say a single word, almost like she'd read his mind, Hermione reached out her hand in front of him, telling him to stop.

"Nothing's happening," she assured him. "Ginny couldn't stop crying, so they’re just lying there."

Ron looked at her confused, but she simply chuckled.

"We've been best friends for seven years. I think I've learned to predict what you're going to say."

Without warning, Ron leaned forward and kissed her. She startled, and froze for a moment, but soon she sunk into the kiss, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he around her waist until they were less than inches apart. Once their lips had parted their foreheads stayed touched.

"What was that for?" she whispered, though there was no disappointment in her voice.

"For knowing me," Ron answered plainly. "For always knowing me."

Hermione bit back a smile and blushed, pulling away from him.

"I hardly think that's worth making a fuss over," she said. "You're easy to know."

"I'm easy to know because you know me so well," Ron insisted.

Hermione pushed a curl behind her ear and Ron found himself studying it as she did so: _his_ curls; _his_ Hermione. She must've become aware of the silence that had arisen between them again first, because while he was still transfixed, she was turning towards him again.

"Well…the same could be said for you Ronald Weasley." She began playing with the buttons of his pajamas, and he thought the tickle of her fingers was going to make him faint. When he didn't say anything, she continued.

"You know me better than anyone." Her voice was quieter now, and the dance of her fingers had slowed, but she was staring at the spot where they laid.

Ron scoffed.

"Come off it," he said. "I spent most of the time we knew each other making fun of you,"

Hermione laughed slightly, and shook her head.

"You've already proven yourself wrong," she said. "I know you know me because you don’t think you do…because you don't think about it: you just do it. Maybe it took you a while to come 'round on certain things, but the same could be said for me."

Ron began to say something, but she held up a finger to quiet him and cut him off.

"Don't contradict me just as some attempt of flattery. You know that I'm right."

Ron said nothing, but gave a smile. He still had to get used to this idea that he didn't have to try hard anymore, or even, that he didn't have to try at all. He'd spent so long trying to find the right things to say to get them together, that he forgot sometimes that they already were.

"Anyway," Hermione continued. "What I meant is that you know how to comfort me. You know how to calm me down, and when to let me be, and when I need redirecting. Those aren't things you can consciously do…you have to _know_ a person, and you've always been able to do those things for me."

She was still looking away, but Ron grabbed her chin, and tilted it back upward, looking her straight in the eyes.

"You do it for me too," he said firmly. "Just in the way you said."

They looked straight into each other's eyes for a few moments, and the next words Ron said came without a thought.

"Do you want to lie down?" he asked, nodding his head towards his pillow.

Hermione looked surprised for a moment, then smiled.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Okay."

And in that moment they both knew that the unspoken fears they'd had when she'd first entered the room didn't have to be fears anymore. This was new, yes, but it wasn't scary. It was natural and right and easy, just like kissing and holding hands had become, just like studying _his_ curls…and _her_ freckles.

They both pulled their legs up onto the bed, and Ron leaned back onto the pillow, a lump forming in his throat as he prepared for what would come next. Hermione scooted back, and then, she was next to him and their sides were touching. They looked over at each other and smiled, but it didn't take long for them to realize that neither of them had much room.

"This isn't working," Hermione said, laughing.

"No," Ron admitted, then thought for a moment.

"Here," he said, and lifted up his arm. Hermione sat up slightly and let him wrap it around her shoulders.

But that wasn't right either. When she laid back down, his arm was pressed down against the bed, and he gave a grunt. Hermione winced.

"Sorry!" she exclaimed. She tried to readjust herself, but, still lying on a sliver of mattress, nearly fell off the bed.

She let out a yelp and Ron gasped in concern, but not before Hermione burst into laughter, throwing her head back.

"We just can't get this right!"

Nerves melting away, Ron began to laugh too.

"I guess not, huh?"

And then they just laughed. Apparently being open to learning new things together didn't mean that they would automatically know how to do them. But with Hermione, Ron liked trying to learn.

"Alright," she said as she regained her composure. "Hold on. Lift up your arm again."

Ron did as she said and she scooted further down the bed and closer to his side, curling up her legs. He closed his arm around her shoulders again, and this time it fit, and she laid down again, her head on his chest. His stomach dropped.

 _Whoa._ That _was a new feeling._

Hermione let out a contented sigh, and Ron beamed. Her curls were tickling his neck, and with her head this close he could smell her shampoo. The weight of her head on his chest was a reminder that she was there with him, and he wasn't alone, and they were together now, and they were going to be together: a reminder that they'd finally made it.

"I like this," Hermione muttered.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Me too."

Hermione giggled, and buried her face in his shirt, and Ron started playing with her curls. Quickly, what had started as awkward became so natural that they might have been doing it forever, and so wonderful that Ron knew he wanted to do it every chance he got.

"So," he said. "I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you the next installment in my series of 'times I should have kissed you,'"

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed.

"You haven't stopped telling me those stories in three days!" she exclaimed.

"Well I have a lot of them to tell!" Ron argued. "I spent five years being daft about it before I finally got it together. Now…"

Hermione held up a finger to stop him.

"Not so fast," she teased. "I think it's my turn to tell one."

"You're going to tell the story of when I should've kissed you?"

Hermione smacked him playfully as he smirked at her.

"Like you're the only one who has stories? Might I remind you that _I_ was the one who kissed _you_!"

"Yeah, because of something _I_ said,"

Ron continued to smirk at her–having learned all of the best teasing methods from his brothers–and she continued to smack at his chest with the ends of her sleeves as they both lost themself in fits of laughter.

"Now be quiet and listen," Hermione demanded. "It's my turn,"

Ron laughed as he pulled her closer, wondering if this was going to be what his whole life was like from now on–demands and being cut off in conversation–and at the same time thinking that he wouldn't mind: not if it was coming from Hermione. If she was cutting him off, that just meant that he got to listen to the sound of her voice for a little while longer, and if she was taking control…well she knew better than him most of the time anyway; she deserved to take control.

"I should have kissed you…" she began, then stopped, staring at him so playfully that he knew she was holding off just to tease him. They were locked in a staring contest, and just as his eyebrows lifted for him to burst from anticipation, she cracked.

"After the Quidditch try-outs sixth year."

"After the…" Ron began to question, not expecting it, but Hermione was smirking like he would, apparently very pleased with herself.

"You were so happy," she explained. "And I was so proud of you. It could've been like a little celebration. Plus, I'm sure it would've been lovely to rub in Cormac's face."

She continued to talk, and he was listening, but all he could really focus on was that thought: what if this was his whole life now? He'd only been laying with her like this for a few minutes, but he already knew it was his favorite thing to do. He thought about how well she understood him. He thought about much everything she did made him smile. He thought about how she had always been the first person he turned to when he was angry or upset or happy. He thought about how she kept him grounded. He thought about what it felt like to kiss her, to hold her, to see her wearing his jumper, to play with her curls– _his_ curls. He thought about how he already knew that he'd give up his happiness in exchange for hers without hesitation.

He thought about how much he loved her.

And then the next words came out of his mouth.

He wanted to say that they were impulsive: an outburst caused by the hour of the night and the level of his joy and him not being in his right mind; but they weren't. He knew exactly what he was saying, and he meant it, crazy as it seemed.

"Will you marry me?"

Hermione stopped and looked up at him for a moment, frozen. Then, she burst back into giggles.

"Wow I didn't know how powerful my wanting to kiss you was."

"No, really." Ron said. There was not a hint of joking in his voice.

Hermione shot up to sitting, and Ron followed her as she stared at him, flabbergasted.

"You can't be serious!" she said.

"Why can't I be?" he asked.

"Because we're _seventeen_!"

"Mum and Dad were eighteen!"

"But we've only just kissed the other day and…"

She looked at him with eyes that spoke a mix of confusion and fear, but not anger; not disappointment. And, in the backs of them, there was just a hint of admiration.

"I know it seems ridiculous," Ron admitted. "And I know we're young and we're new, but…haven’t we always known anyway? I think I did…even if it was subconsciously."

He turned to face her and grabbed her hands, and now–in her eyes–tears were pooling.

"It's like you said before. When you really _know_ someone, you don't know that you do. Well that goes for this too. I always _knew_ it was you, even when I didn't. And I know that you did too. So…even though we’ve only technically been together for three days…we have been for much longer than that, and don't try to deny it because we both know it's true.

" _I love you_ , Hermione: I'm always going to. So, what else matters?"

Hermione just stared at him for a moment with her jaw dropped.

"Ron…" she muttered, and shook her head. She waited for him to say something else, but his gaze did not change in its severity, and he was beginning to look scared, so she knew the responsibility had fallen on her.

"I love you too, and I hear what you’re saying," she said, being careful not to say anything that might make him think that she didn't feel the same about him.

"But there's so many other things to consider. Marriage is more than just knowing you want to be together for the rest of your lives; it's keeping a house, and paying bills and figuring out who takes on what responsibilities and…"

"Can't we figure that out together? We're pretty good at it you know."

"Ron think about this! We're seventeen and fresh out of a war and without jobs! And I'm thinking about going back to Hogwarts next year to finish my studies."

She was worried what the last sentence might do to him, as she hadn't voiced it yet, but he didn't back down.

"So I'll wait!" he insisted. "And I'll go back with you…either way."

Her jaw stood hanging open, and she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was acting crazy, but she couldn't place blame on or be mad at him…because his words were enough to make her grab him and apparate to a wedding chapel right then. But she knew she couldn't let emotion rule her in this moment. She had to think clearly where he couldn't.

She looked away from him and stared at their still joined hands and started to cry, because she knew what she had to say next: something that she hadn't said to him yet; something that she knew would jeopardize everything so inconceivably wonderful that she had gained over the past few days."

"Ron," she muttered. "I can't…I can't stay here much longer. I was waiting to tell you: I have to go soon to Australia and find my parents so I can restore their memories."

She could barely speak now so as to try to stop herself from crying too hard.

"I don’t know how long I'm going to be gone. I have no idea where they are or how I'm going to find them and…"

 _And I don't want you sitting around waiting and worrying about me the whole time_ she thought, but didn't say.

"And you don’t think I'm coming with you?"

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief with tear-filled eyes.

"You want to come with me?" she whispered.

She'd never even thought about asking him to come, because somehow it never occurred to her that he would be willing to. This was her problem after all, and unlike the Horcruxes, had nothing to do with any of the rest of them.

"'Course I do," Ron whispered. "You don't think I'd let you go through that alone do you?" She still didn't have any words.

Ron sighed then squeezed her hands more tightly, and leaned in close.

"Hermione, we’re in this together now: that's what I'm trying to say. I don't care if we've been together for three days, or three months, or three years; I know it's you for me. We've been through everything that life could possibly throw at us together, and you're the only person I could ever imagine going through anything else with. No one's ever going to be able to understand me better than you can, and I don't want anyone to, 'cause no one else is ever gonna make me feel like you do.

"I want to be there for you, for good and bad and everything: comforting you when you're hurting, and cheering you on when you do all the amazing things I know you're going to, and helping you when you need it. I wanna build a life together, and I know I sound like a fool…but I can't help it. I'm in love with you, and I can't tell you how, but I know that's never gonna change. So what does it matter how young we are or how long we've been together if I already know that?"

Hermione was crying again now, but there was something entirely different in her eyes. She was melting at the sight of him, seeing him in an entirely new light. She had known for a long time that she loved him and that he loved her, and that they'd do anything to protect each other, but hearing his words struck her differently.

Ron Weasley, shy and unwilling to really talk about his feelings for as long as she'd known him, was sitting in front of her saying all of these wonderful things…and they were about her. For as long in her life that she'd felt lonely, for as long as she'd feared that she would always be unloved, that she'd always somehow be alone, that no one would ever want her the way she was: here were these words coming from the person she'd always most wanted to love her…and the person she'd always most feared wouldn't.

"I just…" Ron continued. He hesitated. Something was scaring him, and when he spoke again, he was crying too.

"I'm scared. Everything about our lives is so different, and so many things are so awful. And then look at Tonks and Remus. I mean, what could've happened for them if they had gotten married earlier, or had the baby earlier?"

She squeezed his hands more tightly, and he looked away from her.

"I just want to know that I have you," he whispered. "I couldn't ever bear to lose you."

Hermione was smiling now, and without another thought, she tilted her chin up and pressed her lips to his.

He didn't respond this time, but he didn't need to: the meaning behind this kiss was not one that needed to be immediately returned. As she pulled away from him, she cupped his face in her hands, and lifted it up so that he was looking right at her.

"You have me," she said. "Okay? Don't you ever doubt that."

Ron smiled weakly and nodded, and now there were tears pouring from both of their eyes, but they were laughing too: just another thing to do together that was new…but easy.

"Ron Weasley," Hermione said. "You are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met: do you know that?"

Ron laughed.

"Might've guessed at it," he teased, and finally they were both laughing again. But soon it died down, and Hermione took a deep breath before speaking again.

"But…" she started.

"You're saying no," Ron finished. His voice was plain rather than sad, but Hermione could still notice the slight disappointment behind it.

"I'm _saying_ not yet," she corrected, leaning in towards him and giving his hands a squeeze. He perked up at this response, and beamed.

"I love you more than anything, Ron," she continued. "And everything you said you feel I do too, but we're too young to get married. We have too much to learn about the world and each other. But, maybe I can promise that if you ask me again, a few years from now…I'll say yes." Even as she said it, she knew it was crazy, but she didn't care. He was right: somehow she knew, despite all the reasons that she shouldn't, that it was always going to be him.

At hearing this, Ron's eyes lit up, and the corners of his mouth rose up to his ears. Hermione laughed to see him smile, and then he leaned in, and, for the third time that night, their lips met in a kiss. It was simple and still, but full of passion. It was a kiss of discovery. It was a kiss of joy. It was a kiss of promise.

Without saying a word to each other, they laid down again, straight back into the position they had started in: his arm around her, and her head on his chest, and him smelling her shampoo and playing with her curls– _his_ curls.

They were silent for a little while, but suddenly, Hermione spoke.

"So," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "What exactly were you picturing? When you talked about us building a life together…what did that look like?"

"Oh," Ron replied, not expecting the question. He wasn't even quite sure how to answer it.

"Well…I guess we'd have a cottage: small enough to be cozy, but big enough so that we never feel like we don’t have enough room."

As he spoke, the image became clearer. Hermione grinned as she listened and hugged him tightly.

"Yeah," he continued. "A nice, 'just a little bit big', cottage. And we'll have a big backyard outside for Quidditch, and a library for you, and lots of extra bedrooms so there's always a place for family to sleep, and lots of places for Crookshanks to make himself comfortable. And there'll be a big kitchen where we can cook together, and a big cozy couch where we can cuddle up at night and you can read. And maybe we can get one of those…what do Muggles call those big box things with the pictures on them?'

"A television," Hermione answered, laughing.

"Yeah," Ron said. "A television."

He was staring into space, lost in the dream he was weaving.

"Yeah. We'll cuddle up at night and watch the television. And you can read. And then–one day I suppose–there'll be a baby too: a little girl."

Hermione scoffed at this, but Ron did not give up.

"Yeah: a little girl named…"

"Rose," Hermione said, cutting him off. He looked at her, confused.

"I've always wanted to name a daughter Rose," she explained. Ron nodded.

"Right then," he said. "A little girl named Rose."

They got quiet then, and Hermione let out a contented sigh and closed her eyes. Ron looked at her, and imagined she'd be asleep in a few minutes. Smiling, he lifted his head up just enough to place a kiss on her head, and she responded by scrunching up her nose.

He chuckled, then leaned his head back, and closed his own eyes; he reckoned they could both use some sleep. As he drifted off, he continued to picture the cottage, and the life, and the little girl named Rose…and her little brother. And even though he knew his Mum would kill him when she found them in the morning, he didn't care. After all, Ginny was going to be hearing it too, and it would be well worth it for the dreams he was sure he was about to have.

Because one day they were really going to be his. One day…she was going to say yes.

**Author's Note:**

> So I definitely cried writing this, so I hope you liked it too! I have another Romione one-shot already done that I should be posting soon, and some other multi-chaps that I'm either writing or thinking about writing! I'm excited to start writing and sharing some more Potter fic now that this most recent readthrough has reignited my love, so you should be hearing a lot from me!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, and thanks for your love and support. Stay magical!


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